


they see us talking out both sides of our mouths

by sugarboat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Face Slapping, Implied one-sided Elias/Jon, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Potentially Dubious Consent, Roleplay, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 15:31:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17368559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarboat/pseuds/sugarboat
Summary: Elias is on sexy house arrest for his terrible, no good crimes.





	they see us talking out both sides of our mouths

**Author's Note:**

> Super vague potential spoiler for s4e1 in one line. Happy end of hiatus!

There are certain perks that come from being on friendly terms with the Lukas family. They’re old money, a trait that’s like some invasive root in how it permeates their manner, their every action. They’re expansive in both number and amusements. And they’re generous. It seems like a strange contradiction for a group of people who are so entirely self-interested. 

Elias had thought so, once. When the mantle of his title and god were still new and ill-fitting, and he’d shaken Peter Lukas’ hand for the first time. Peter with a presence the same as the entity he served, swamping and invasive, blinding in its capacity. He’d been more than eager to introduce Elias to the finer points of their shared existence. 

Generous, Elias had thought. And he was right to an extent. It just took him a bit longer to see beyond the hollow front to the _why_ of it. Because the Lukases were generous for a very specific reason. Similar to the Web in how many strings they had to pull, the tight ropes of alliances tied to the ends of their fingers. All of it a balancing act of favors, and they liked to keep their ledgers neatly balanced. 

So when Peter once again throws his weight around, plucking on all those strings his family has provided for him, Elias knows exactly why he does it. Which way the scales between them have begun to tilt. And he has had more than enough opportunities to learn to detest owing Peter Lukas favors.

Even so, he considers, hearing the elevator doors leading to Peter’s flat chime, there were worse people into whose custody he could have been released. 

“Where’s my lovely prisoner?” Peter calls. Accompanied by the sound of his pockets being emptied, objects treated without care as they leave his immediate vicinity. “Front and center, Mr. Bouchard.” 

Elias swallows down the thick, exasperated sigh that clogs his throat. As if the indignities of being under house arrest – and not even in his own home, such as it was – aren’t enough without having to suffer Peter’s joviality at it all.

Still, he is a guest, and more than anything, he is a servant to his own interests. Elias sets aside the book he had been idling through and rises from the lounge, heading dutifully towards the foyer. Passing rooms that look like they were lifted full-scale from catalogue pages, but only because they probably were. One of the many monstrous suites Peter’s family enjoys to collect, to fill with fine things and leave to gather dust. 

Empty spaces. Of course. Rooms wide, expansive, modern-edged and sharp. A hundred people could gather in this place and still their voices would echo as if they were alone with their own thoughts. 

“Peter,” Elias greets, though he can’t help but raise an eyebrow at how he has shucked none of his outerwear off. “How is the Institute?” 

And the Archives. It’s instinctive, a reflexive twitch, to glance at a still hospital room. 

“Now now,” Peter chastises, and Elias feels that sigh arrest in his throat once more. “That’s no way to address your custodian. I won’t have the disrespect, Elias. Please, call me Warden.” 

Against his will, a smirk begins to tug at one corner of his lips. “Warden Lukas. Or do we perhaps remain on first name basis?” 

“Warden Lukas will do quite nicely.” Ridiculous man. “I’ve been beginning to wonder something, you know. Go ahead and take my coat, won’t you?” 

“Of course,” Elias agrees. He tries not to chafe at the order as he moves to obey, maneuvering behind Peter and allowing him to slip his coat off into his waiting hands. “What were you wondering, Warden Lukas?” 

The smile he earns in response is sharp at its corners and predatory in its intent, and it sends a lovely frisson down his spine to see it. 

“I’m beginning to wonder, Elias, if you understand the severity of your crimes.” Peter turns to watch him open the closet and hang his coat, before he snaps the fingers of one hand and points down to his boots. “Murder, most foul, and with your own hands? Tsk, tsk.” 

“Extenuating circumstances,” Elias murmurs. 

He keeps his eyes on Peter’s as he sinks to his knees before him and is quite cognizant of how Peter draws one hand back. Tenses from anticipation of the open-handed slap that is delivered with well-practiced ease. Delivered to the side of his face, expert precision, a resounding crack that echoes off tall, blank walls. It snaps his head to the side and resolves into a bright, clean sting that immediately throbs along his cheek, the skin of it feeling hot and prickling and tight. 

Elias licks his lips. 

“None of that, do you hear me? I don’t want to hear your excuses.” Peter grips him by the hair and cranes his head back. Elias lets his gaze linger on where Peter is clearly growing excited before he meets his eyes again.

“Yes, Warden,” Elias says slowly. Savoring the ache in one side of his jaw. “Forgive me.” 

Peter gives his head one last jerk and releases him. “That’s more like it. Contrition, Elias – that’s what we’re after. The rehabilitation of the poorly wayward soul.” 

Elias has to close his eyes against the temptation to roll them. It’s not exactly shocking that this is the game Peter has chosen to play, but he’s laying it on quite thick. Even so, Elias bends towards his task, undoing the laces first of one boot and then the other. Calculating the odds of which response he’s expected to give, if Peter wants him pleading for benediction or full of biting, snarling pride. 

“I am so sorry for what I’ve done,” Elias drawls, dry and filled with every ounce of regret he doesn’t feel in the slightest. Peter waits until he’s gotten both his boots off before tangling a fist in his hair again.

“I know you aren’t,” Peter says with a sigh. Forces him to bare his neck until it hurts. “But you will be. And seeing as the upstanding and incorruptible legal forces that be have released you into my care, it seems that I am to be responsible for ensuring you’re fittingly remorseful.” 

There has been no shortage of people to call Elias arrogant and self-involved. It’s easy to draw on that as he sneers, “And how, exactly, do you intend to accomplish that?” 

“Well, thank you for asking, Elias. But I think I’d like to hear your ideas, first. How do you think you could prove you’ve been properly punished for your misdeeds?” 

Peter makes the answer he wants to hear fairly obvious, groping at his own hardened cock through his slacks. 

“Perhaps an essay on the value of human life?” Elias suggests. 

Peter’s fingers tighten in Elias’ hair to the point of pain, but he laughs, easy and pleased. “I suppose I could be persuaded to accept an oral essay.” 

Elias snorts, rather lacking in grace. It makes Peter twist his hand again, biting needles along his scalp before a dull, pleasant burn. “Would you like me to begin then?” 

“I leave it to your discretion.” But he’s pulling Elias closer to his crotch, insistent, unyielding, until Elias finds his mouth nudging into Peter’s still clothed cock. 

“A hands-off approach?” There isn’t sarcasm thick enough in the world. Elias looks up beneath his lashes, well aware of the picture he makes when he slips his tongue out to lap at Peter’s cock through the smooth material of his slacks. 

“Should be familiar then, right? Or would you prefer a firmer touch?” Peter’s hips buck forward. Free hand stroking down one of Elias’ cheeks and then moving to work at his belt. “But I can tell you right now, you’ve skipped a few steps.” 

“Have I?” He outlines the silhouette of Peter’s dick with his lips. “In that case, you’d hardly be remiss in… providing correction.” 

“I believe I’ve mentioned, providing you correction is practically my duty. Now, take my cock out and suck it properly.” 

That infamous Lukas family patience. Elias nearly says as much when he begins to undo Peter’s trousers, tugs down the elastic of his briefs to let his cock spring free. The source of half of Peter’s overstated arrogance, at least. Hard already, pearling at the tip – it makes Elias wonder which part of this is so exciting for him. The play, the position; perhaps merely the situation itself, the idea that Peter’s won something between them, coming home to snap his fingers and have Elias on his knees for him.

He could find out. Skim the dark surface of Peter’s mind and see what bubbles up from its recesses. Sink into his basilar lines and unravel yet unconsolidated thoughts, pull his wants out of him like threads of string unwoven from their patterns. It would hardly be the first time. There are few enough first times left between the two of them. 

There was a time the very idea of that would have been intolerable. Repeat performances haven’t always held the same appeal they now do. In the replication of results, the catalogued discrepancies between each instance. Peter’s hands gentle in his hair or rough, or bound somewhere behind him – the tweaking of variables into novel sensation. 

Highlighted now as Peter takes the base of his cock in hand and slaps the head of it crudely against where Elias’ cheek is still lowly throbbing. Smears its drooling tip across his skin as if he still expects Elias to be affected by such rudimentary degradation. Elias turns towards it – grimacing at the sticky trail of precome left along his cheek – opening his mouth to take the head of it against his tongue. 

And true to form, Peter fucks his throat like it’s a punishment. Holds his head in place with his hands and digs his thumbs into his jaw. Dragging out all those involuntary responses, low noises from Elias that must rumble pleasantly around his cock. He goes still whenever Elias gags, keeps him flush to his hips and rolls them against his face. Unrepentant in his enjoyment, but even that isn’t right, implying as it does that Peter believed there to be something he should repent for. 

The pace makes it difficult for Elias to do much other than be a receptacle for Peter’s cock, which is probably the point but a bit of a shame. Peter jerks him off his cock to slap him again when he drags his nails down the tense muscles of Peter’s ass. He says something about prisoners not leaving marks that Elias can barely digest above the brash of sensory input and then it’s back to pummeling his throat. 

Elias doesn’t bother trying to touch himself. He won’t be allowed to, the same as he isn’t permitted to struggle or to reciprocate. One of the many methods Peter employs to flay strips of him away. It’s still tempting to try, just to see how Peter will correct him. 

Even as he considers it, Elias’ eyes slip closed. They’re never closed. He sees the Archives, quiet and still. Dark and patient. His Archivist much the same, suspended as he is at his crossroads. Though in his dreams he’s- ah, almost there, the cold wet graveyard air a slow caress along his skin, churning with currents of unseen movement. 

A sharp jerk to his hair has Elias planted firmly in the physical again. 

“You think I can’t tell when you aren’t paying attention?” Peter asks him. “I’ve been quite lenient with you, you know.” 

It’s hard to respond to anything with a cock in his mouth. Elias assumes the long, bland stare he gives Peter is answer enough. 

“Ungrateful,” Peter sighs. “No, this essay won’t do, you’re not learning your lesson at all.” Peter suddenly nudges a foot between his thighs, shoves at his leg until Elias spread them both with a sigh. “Why, Mr. Bouchard, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were enjoying this.” 

Punctuated with a little jerk of his hips up into Elias’ mouth. It’s getting awkward to hold his mouth open like this, Peter mostly just resting his cock against his tongue, pushing up into his palate in a way that’s just shy of making him choke. There’s already a trail of saliva and precome down his chin that he itches to wipe away. 

“Well? Tell me, have you learned your lesson?”

Elias raises an eyebrow, but nods his head, curious. 

“What was that darling? I can’t hear you.” 

Elias lets out a long, slow breath through his nose. Then he mumbles what could pass for an agreeable noise around Peter’s dick.

“Hmmm,” Peter tilts his head to one side. “I get the feeling that you’re trying to tell me something, I really do, but I just can’t quite make it out.” 

Honestly. Elias rolls his eyes, and lets his jaw close just slightly. Enough to graze his teeth along Peter’s cock before relaxing. Settling into a particular pattern while Peter hisses out careful breaths above him, dick twitching against his tongue. Short, quick nips to his flesh or long pauses, and he’s surprised to get all the way to _F-U-C_ before Peter is laughing. 

“Really, Elias? Morse code?” Peter thrusts languidly into his mouth and this time Elias can’t help the moan at the long, slow slide of his cock into his throat, a stretching burn that aches pleasantly. “I mean, I already am, but thank you so kindly for the invitation.” 

Elias squirms his tongue against the underside of his cock, all smooth, silky skin and salt, Peter a familiar weight filling him. He turns his head in Peter’s grasp and sucks until Peter curses and finally lets him move. Hand still in his hair, threading through it but he lets Elias bob on his cock himself, lets him find those sensitive areas that make him shiver and twitch when Elias flicks at them with his tongue. 

If they finish quickly, Jon might still be with the Eye. 

“Knew you were hungry for it,” Peter pants, meeting Elias’ mouth with his own thrusts. “You’re mine, you know that? You and that whole bloody Institute, and everything in it.” 

Things grate inside him at that, pleasure that spits at its edges – that casual, noxious ownership that Peter casts around himself, demands from everything and everyone – something sharp and ugly that feels like the tattered remnants of an emotion he doesn’t have a name for any longer. And anger. Thick and black, and he’s not sure which of those Peter sees when he looks down into his eyes but it makes him throw his head back and shove his cock in deep, pulsing with his orgasm. 

Elias closes his eyes again and Sees. Jon’s falling. Upwards, or down, it’s stopped mattering so long ago. Terror and disgust, loathing for himself and the Eye both. Relief. That sense of completion which startles Jon every time he feels it, the depth of it, and oh, Elias hopes he’ll be there the last time Jon falls. He’s almost reached its lens, the warm bubble that bursts open to take him into dark, wet depths, when the scene grinds to a halt. 

Interesting. The Eye jerks, a single, sharp tick of a movement, to find its reflective gaze in Elias’ own watchful eyes. And Jon turns his head to follow it. Piercing, so much more than he used to be, so much the Archivist that it stills Elias’ breath. Stripping, flaying in its intensity, and Elias has nothing left to keep from the Eye but from _Jon_ -

It only lasts a moment. The great pupil fixates on its Archivist once again, and Jon is swallowed. And Elias is as well, in another’s grasp. Isolation.

“We’ll need to work on your manners,” Peter says. 

He wipes along Elias’ mouth, where come and spit have leaked. Gathers it up in his palm before dragging his hand through Elias’ hair. He’s put himself away already. There’s wetness cooling between Elias’ thighs as well, and he wonders idly which offense has stricken Peter more thoroughly. 

“My sincerest apologies,” Elias says. “Perhaps, in the future, you could be more interesting if you’re hoping to hold my attention.” 

Peter gives a short burst of a laugh and shakes Elias by his hair. Before tossing him back and turning to stalk finally into the flat. “Is that how you’d like it? I think, in that case, some time spent in solitary confinement would do you wonders.” 

“Peter,” Elias says warningly, but the sound is already being tugged away. Swallowed into the grey fog roiling in beneath the door, billowing around its corners. 

“No need to fret.” Peter’s voice echoes strangely now. “I’ll pull you out to play soon enough.” 

And Elias is left alone. Without the benefit, even, of Sight to distract him this time. Elias rises to his feet, swallowing at the taste in his mouth. Well. At least he has his book. 

He pauses, wincing at the pull of his clothing, wet still with his come. After a shower, perhaps.


End file.
